The great Leonardo proclaimed that “the smallest feline is a masterpiece.”
I can appreciate his taste in cats, as each one is brimming with pizzazz and spunk.
Priscilla is a grey-white short hair that adorns the front windows, my laptop and curtains.
She can run at full speed when her ears pick up the sound of jingling bells, yet remain almost doll-like in her half-day long naps.
How she could have been thrown in a bag on the street with her siblings and left for dead last winter confounds me.
Her golden blue eyes glance at me curiously, and then she dozes again into a deep slumber.
How typical of cats, they don’t need to thank us for acknowledging their greatness in words or song.